


Incurable

by Askellie (NadaNine)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Emetophilia, Fontcest, Illnesses, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, incestuous overtones, mild force-feeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7990045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Papyrus only wants to make his brother feel better. It's not his fault Sans chooses to be difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incurable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



The creak of the stairs and the heavy stomp of Papyrus’s boots on the floorboards jerked Sans out of sleep, and he groaned miserably, hiding his skull under the pillow and hoping pitifully that this time maybe Papyrus was just on his way to bed and wouldn’t be coming in to ‘check on’ his brother.

No such luck.

“Sans?” Papyrus called, knocking firmly on his door, though Sans didn’t know why he bothered except to announce his presence with more volume. Even if Sans didn’t answer, he’d come in anyway, and had forbidden Sans from locking him out until the shorter skeleton had gotten better.

Stupid surface illnesses. Ugh. Sans felt positively miserable. He’d been feverish and sore for days. His bed was soaked with his clammy sweat despite Papyrus’s frequent insistence on changing the sheets, and he was positively exhausted. It didn’t help that Papyrus insisted on disturbing him every hour, trying to force liquids down his completely disinterested gullet. Given the amount of fluids Sans was losing, Sans could maybe understand why his brother was so concerned, but skeletons really weren’t as delicate as other more biological beings, and Sans really, really just wanted to stay unconscious until the worst of this was over.

His brother was so damn earnest, though. Sans gave a suffering sigh.

“Hey Pap,” he croaked softly as Papyrus let himself in. His voice was so weak he wasn’t sure it carried, but he couldn’t be bothered to try again. He stared up at his brother with dull eyes, trying to convince Papyrus to maybe take pity on him.

“Ugh, how can your sheets be this damp already?” Papyrus exclaimed, looking at the crumpled mess pooled around Sans’s waist with distaste. Sans shut his eyes. He was probably going to be forced to get up so Papyrus could change them again.

“Sorry,” he rasped, and despite himself he did feel slightly bad. Papyrus was working so hard to try and keep him comfortable and make sure he got better as quickly as possible. It was just that his rambunctious brother hadn’t realised that sickness wasn’t always a thing that could be tackled with force and enthusiasm.

Papyrus sighed effusively. “Never mind. I brought you something to drink! Doctor Alphys gave me the recipe, so I’m sure it will be super duper effective!”

Sans grit his teeth in discomfort and let Papyrus lift him into a sitting position, cradling Sans’s small body against his chest. He supposed this was an improvement; the last couple of 'health-boosting tonics’ Papyrus had tried on him had been from Undyne. Most of them tasted tart and salty, and a couple had been inexplicably fishy. Sans had only managed to force them down out of sheer love for his brother, but even that motivation was starting to run a little dry.

Papyrus raised the cup to his teeth and Sans opened his mouth without looking at it, thinking his palate had been prepared by the last round of seaweed and lemongrass extracts.

He had never been so completely wrong.

The taste actually made him convulse in horror, slapping a hand over his mouth so he didn’t immediate spit it back out. It was a completely mess of overpowering flavours, frothy and lumpy and wrong. He managed to choke it down, but not without a cost as he coughed and spluttered and gasped for fresh air to try and fumigate the flavour from his tongue.

“W-what…what’s in that?” he asked, appalled. He couldn’t believe Alphys had somehow managed to come up with something worse than Undyne.

“Lots of good things! Carrots. Orange juice. Ginger.” That last one explained why his nasal cavity was burning. The mixture in his mouth had felt like it had contained large, raw chunks of it just thrown in haphazardly. Papyrus looked considerate. “Also I added some milk because it didn’t sound like there was enough calcium in there for you.”

“Ugh…” Sans put a hand to his face, feeling his head throbbing with quiet agony. Right. Papyrus probably had no idea that mixing orange juice with milk would make it curdle. He was just trying to be helpful, and more was always better in his mind.

“Come on, brother, you need to drink,” Papyrus insisted, bringing the cup up to Sans’s face again.

Sans’s stomach immediately rebelled. Nope, no way in hell. He put his taste buds through a lot of regular amount of abuse, dealing with Papyrus’s cooking, and he’d endured Undyne’s concoctions with only a minimum of complaint, but this Frankenstein monstrosity of Alphys’s credible assistance mutilated by Papyrus’s exuberance was too much.

“I can’t bro,” he whined, talking through his teeth just in case Papyrus tried to take advantage in a moment of weakness. “S-seriously.”

“What’s wrong?” Papyrus pouted, frowning deeply.

“It’s-” Shit, even now he couldn’t say anything about his brother’s culinary skills, so he hastily deflected, “I really don’t feel good. I think I’m gonna hurl.”

He probably would, if Papyrus forced it on him, so at least he had a ready-made excuse for when that happened.

Papyrus stared at him blankly for a few moments, possibly trying to wrap his head around the idea. As far as Sans could remember, Papyrus hadn’t _ever_ been sick, not even as a babybones. He’d been injured occasionally, lots of bruises and scrapes, a couple of broken bones, but ill? Never. Whereas Sans with his single HP (and though he would argue on this vehemently with his brother; his poor diet and hygiene habits) tended to come down with something or other on a disturbingly regular basis. Most of the time it just meant a few days of quiet discomfort, not anything as dramatic as whatever his body was currently fighting off, but even if Papyrus didn’t completely understand it surely he was used to this from Sans by now, and–

“Maybe you should,” Papyrus said, snapping his brother out of his reverie.

Sans squinted, wondering if he’d somehow missed a few moment of the conversation. “Huh?”

“I read somewhere that throwing up is often the body’s way of expelling something unhealthy,” Papyrus informed him primly but excitedly. “Maybe that’s what you need to get better!”

“Pap, I don’t-urk!”

He didn’t even get the chance to protest. Papyrus had already set the cup down and without any warning whatsoever levered Sans’s teeth apart and stuck his hand into his brother’s mouth. Sans was nearly too startled to react, blinking in utter bewilderment at his brother. Papyrus wore a look of intense concentration, and Sans felt his gloved fingers prodding curiously around the back of his mouth, searching–

All at once Sans figured out what his brother was trying to do and immediately tried to pull away, gargling in indignation as he tried to grasp his brother’s wrist and yank it from his mouth. He wasn’t vicious enough to bite down, not when that might actually hurt his brother, but he sure as hell didn’t want Papyrus poking around in his skull trying to trigger his gag reflex.

Except that despite his obvious resistance, Papyrus refused to stop, and in fact his only response was to pin Sans back against the wall, preventing him from escaping. He easily pinned Sans under his weight, managing to catch both Sans’s flailing hands in one of his own, gently restraining him.

“Come on, brother, I’m sure this will help! You’ll feel much better!” Papyrus insisted, and there was a small note of desperation there that nearly gave Sans pause. Papyrus was really worried. Sans hadn’t been sick for so long or so badly in quite some time, and never before with some strange surface disease. No one was quite sure if it had the potential to be serious or not, so if Papyrus’s care taking had been a lot more fervent than usual it was only because he was legitimately afraid for Sans.

The thought made him falter for a moment, and that was long enough for Papyrus to shover his hand even further back, the tip of his fingers scraping near where the very top of his spine met his skull, and Sans jerked violently with a strangled sound, his eyelights rolling back, chest hitching and soul pulsing wildly. He vehemently clamped down on the reflex, holding himself together through sheer will, but even so he coughed awkwardly around Papyrus’s fingers, spitting up saliva and the small quantity of bile that had managed to escape.

Papyrus drew his hand out, staring at the stains on his glove. The fluid was tinted blue, the same as any other magical residue Sans emitted. It was thick and slimy, dangling from his fingers in gooey strings. Sans flushed, feeling violated and slightly nauseated from the sight of it.

“Urg…Pap…why…?”

He tried to formulate the question but the words seemed to freeze in his throat at the look of utter fascination on Papyrus’s face. He turned his hand back and forth as if he were admiring a collection of glittering jewellery over his fingers, not a murky coating of mucus.

He turned his dazed expression back on Sans, and for the first time in his life Sans felt a pang of something alarmed ringing through his skull. He almost mistook it for his illness at first, because surely, surely he would never feel that towards his brother. Papyrus shouldn’t be able to unnerve him.

There wasn’t even time to convince himself he was imagining it before Papyrus was on him again, prying open Sans’s clenched jaw, a kind of furious madness in his eyes.

“Shhh, it’s okay brother,” he tried to hush Sans absurdly, as if he wasn’t currently forcing his hand into his brother’s mouth up to the wrist. “It’ll feel good. You’ll feel so much better, just let me-!”

_NO_ , he tried to say, but the word came out as more of a groan. He could taste the sour residue on Papyrus;s gloves, the lingering remnants of regurgitated orange juice and ginger, and that alone was nearly enough to set him off. This time Papyrus had a much better idea of what he was reaching for, and where to find it. Sans didn’t stand a chance. He bucked helplessly once, trying to fight his brother off, but it was futile. His arms were strengthens. His head was still pounding. The awful taste in his mouth was suffocating him, and when Papyrus managed to press down hard on that delicate nerve inside his mouth, Sans’s body reacted completely without his consent.

The reflex was only supposed to exist to vacate tainted or unessential magic, and only in emergencies because the reaction was thoroughly unpleasant. Sans felt it churning turbulently inside him, pressing up against the intangible conduit that acted as his throat, distending it, straining against the choke-point before being violently expelled. He vomited, the flood of magic bursting out his mouth in an excruciating flow of azure with hints of orange from the undigested juice. The taste was awful, like battery acid, and there was no hope at all of containing the deluge with Papyrus’s hand still wedged in his mouth. Sans writhed, unable to breathe and feeling the horrible sensation of some of it backwashing and welling up behind his eye sockets. It was mortifying.

And the _mess_. Papyrus’s hand had caught most of it, but the rest had splattered all down Sans’s front, over his sheets, and even over Papyrus’s shirt. Sans wheezed weakly as his brother finally withdrew his hand and inspected it with a kind of wonder. His glove was ruined; Sans didn’t think even Papyrus’s skilful laundry efforts could save it. Magical vomit just didn’t dissipate easily. Hell, his mattress might be ruined as well. Sans didn’t think the smell would ever come out – that horrible mix of ginger and curdled milk and his own musky scent. Just inhaling it made him concerned his body might rebel again with yet another expulsion. He heroically restrained it, feeling his body shudder with the effort.

Papyrus was wrong. He didn’t feel better at all; he felt much, much worse, now sticky and disgusting along with his overheating bones and throbbing head. His throat felt burned from the raw magic, his soul clenching with the loss of it. He felt dizzy, and weaker than ever.

But Papyrus was stroking his skull, looking utterly enamoured. “Well done, brother. You’re so good. So good.”

Sans tried to say something, but all that came out of his throat was a pitiful hiss. He couldn’t manage the words. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. He didn’t know how to tell Papyrus how that had been one of the least pleasant, most vile experiences of his life.

He thought he might even pass out. The shock of the magic loss was hitting him hard. He was only dimly aware of Papyrus gathering him up into his arms, squeezing him close, the horrid mess squelching between them.

“I know it was hard, brother, but you did so well! Now let me clean you up. You’ve made such a mess…”

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be outraged. He wanted to cry. But it was much easier to let his head drop limply on Papyrus’s shoulder and let himself be carried to the bathroom where the heat of the shower would hopefully drive off the sudden, unspeakable chill rattling his bones.


End file.
